


All These Things That I've Done

by Sir_Bedevere



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, M/M, Post-Canon, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 22:46:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13727589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_Bedevere/pseuds/Sir_Bedevere
Summary: I got soul but I'm not a soldierStannis is learning to live with himself.Davos is struggling to do the same.





	All These Things That I've Done

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vana/gifts).



The war had forced them all to be things that they weren’t.

It was a fact that Stannis Baratheon had learned at the age of nineteen, holding a castle and waiting for help that never came. It had made his men, good and strong men, weak as babes with the hunger and feral as wolves. It had broken Renly, too. Stannis realised that now, with the hindsight of many years. Renly had been so young, starved so long when he should have been growing, that of course he would take any chance he could to be master of his own fate when he was grown. 

A part of Stannis ached when he thought of his younger brother, long dead and bones in the ground. It had taken him years to understand that he missed him. But he did. He missed him so much, the little boy that he had been and even the pretender who had tried to take his crown. For whilst it had been Stannis’ duty to wear it, he had always known that Renly would have borne it better. 

Renly had been kind, and slow to judge, and he loved with his heart on his sleeve. He would never have won any wars, but he would have been a good king of the peace. And peace was what Stannis desired, above all else. It always had been. That was the way that the war had changed him, for he had not been spared it. War had made him into a soldier, when he would rather have been reading books and mapping the stars. 

And perhaps the worst thing of all was that they had survived it. They had to go on living. To make something out of the snow and the ashes that had been left behind. 

Stannis rested his hands on the sill of the window and looked down into the courtyard. This was what he had built, up here in the freezing wastes of the North. This was what he had now. Men at his command still, but no war to be fought. His cousin had given him this, when she came to take back her throne. She’d awarded him the chance to go on living as her strong right hand up here, far from where he could cause any trouble, should he still wish to cause any, but tied to her still as the commander of her Watch, who owed her his life and those of his men. The Dragon Queen, with Tyrion Lannister at her side, was an exceptionally clever ruler. Stannis doubted he would ever have been that clever. He’d never learned to use mercy as a weapon. 

The weak light of the sun was fading into night as he watched Brynden Tully run some of the boys through sword drills. They were so young, the very youngest of them unable to even remember the war or the long winter that had come with it. Time was passing, quicker than it ever had, and with age had come a new desire to be reflective, or at least attempt to. Stannis knew that he would never be skilled at it, as some men were, but Shireen had been the one to suggest that he try. It had been on one of her visits to the Wall, when he was alone with her for dinner. Age had done nothing except make her into a woman that spoke her mind and seemed to be able to read his. 

_“We’re not fighting anymore,” she said, “But you act as though we are.”_

_“My queen expects us to be prepared for anything,” Stannis looked into his cup of water and ground his teeth._

_“You need to spend more time thinking and less time brooding,” Shireen quirked her eyebrows, just as her mother used to do, “Have you ever thought about the war? The things that you saw?”_

_“I try not to.”_

_“Well, you should. Pretending it never happened will not give you peace, Father. Putting the dead to rest will do that.”_

She had been right, of course. 

Down below, Tully pushed the boys for another minute or so, and then called for them to stop. Breathless, they patted one another on the back and went to put their weapons away. Tully watched them, shading his eyes with his hand and then looked up. Stannis nodded his head in acknowledgement, and Tully gave a half-hearted salute before he disappeared into the hall. Stannis’ Master of Arms said little these days, but that suited them both; Jaime Lannister talked enough for everyone who called the Wall their home, and it would not do to show all the new recruits that an excess of conversation was to be tolerated at all times. Let Tully set the example. They all worshipped him anyway.

***

“My lord, it’s late,” Davos spoke as he entered the office, without stopping to knock, “You haven’t eaten anything.”

Stannis shook his head and put quill back to paper, “I ate well this morning.”

Davos didn’t reply, and when Stannis looked up again he found that he was being watched intently. He opened his mouth to speak, but Davos beat him to it. 

“Very well,” he said, “I – Should I ask the boy to prepare your chamber? It’ll be too cold soon for the fire to take away the cold.”

“Please do,” Stannis said, bringing his eyes up to meet Davos’. He was relieved to see the hint of a smile playing around the man’s mouth.

“I’ll be there shortly,” Stannis added, and the smile became more real. Davos nodded and left the room, and Stannis felt a warmth in his chest. He was not sure if he would ever understand how Davos wanted him, but he did not argue it. If Davos had come to seek him out, that meant only one thing. His company was desired. He finished his letters as quickly as he could, and when had he ever rushed work like this before? Never before. Not before Davos. 

Snuffing the candle, he hastened from the room and climbed the twisting staircase to his chamber. It was a good thing indeed that Davos had come to him. Shireen’s insistence on his attempts at reflection had left Stannis wanting in one respect; he had begun to realise that Davos was not happy. Where he had relied on people to share their moods should they need to, now he was beginning to recognise it himself. And Davos was there, closer than any other, and Stannis did not know what to do. The man had been avoiding him of late. He had not touched him in weeks.

Stannis drew a breath outside his door before stepping inside, and letting out the whole thing in relief, for Davos was there, and he had not believed that he would be. 

Stannis locked the door. Now he had him, he needed to know what he had done wrong, to deserve his exile, for he was sure it was something that he was at fault for. 

“Davos,” he said, occupying his hands with unclipping his cloak and hanging it over the chair, “What-”

He was cut off by Davos rushing at him and taking him tightly in his arms. Davos rested his forehead against Stannis’ chest, and they stood a while like that in silence, save for Davos’ heavy breathing.

“My lord,” he eventually spoke, mumbling his words into Stannis’ doublet, “I am sorry.”

Working to free his arms, Stannis said, “You are forgiven. What am I forgiving you for?”

Davis released him and retreated to the bedside. He sat down heavily, and Stannis followed willingly. He was none too sure of the transgression, but Davos had touched him and that was good. He sat at his side and in a moment of daring, reached out and touched Davos’ fingers with the tips of his own. Davos grabbed at him and brought Stannis’ hand to his mouth. His warm lips breathing hot air onto his palm made Stannis’ spine snap rigid and he could not have spoken even if he had wished to. 

“I am sorry,” Davos spoke in a low voice, “For being remiss in my duties.”

He glanced up at Stannis’ face, as though to make sure he had been understood. He must have found what he needed there, for he continued to speak.

“I have – lately – it has been hard to sleep, my lord. I did not want to disturb you. I suspect I am a loud dreamer, still.”

Ah. The dreams. How Stannis had come to loathe the dreams.

“I’d rather that you had told me, Davos,” Stannis said, bringing up his spare hand to trace the line of Davos’ beard against his cheek. He had missed this softness beneath his fingertips.

“Perhaps I should have,” Davos closed his eyes, and leaned into the touch, “But it is – not easy to speak of.”

Stannis understood that well enough. He was well acquainted, after all, with Davos’ dreams.

“Regardless, I should have known. In future, please keep me informed.”

“Yes, my lord,” Davos murmured, and Stannis realised he was stroking his thumb back and forth across Davos’ cheek. He took his hand away and stood up. Davos looked alarmed, until he realised that Stannis simply meant to undress for bed. Silently, he began to unhook his own doublet.

“Tell me of them now. The dreams.”

Davos sighed.

“There is nothing new to tell. It is a weakness I know, but I suppose some men are just not made for war.”

“No weakness,” Stannis growled, “How much better would all men be if none of them had the stomach for fighting? Imagine the blessed peace.”

“Perhaps,” Davos said softly, and then spoke no more. 

Stannis knew he had never before offered Davos such words of comfort, and he chastised himself for it. This was surely also thanks to Shireen, and he did not know whether to curse or praise her, or curse himself for his remission. It was true though; the war had made a soldier of Davos Seaworth, when he should never have been. If Stannis thought of himself as a man of peace, when the blood of great warriors ran in his veins, then what did that make Davos, who had no such claim of pedigree? 

Davos should not ever have had to kill a man. It was no wonder that he dreamed of it, the blood and the screams and the stink of death. It was not how things should ever have been. 

Stannis stripped down to his shirt and got into bed. Davos followed him, more slowly, and when he was settled, Stannis kissed him. 

Davos made a small noise but clung tightly to him, hands twisted in Davos’ shirt, and for long minutes there was only Davos and his mouth and his warmth. 

“I should be sorry,” Stannis gasped, as he broke away to breathe, “Not you. I made these dreams for you when I put a sword in your hand. I would have it that you never have to hold a weapon again as long as we live.”

He had meant to be reassuring, but he watched in horror as Davos’ face crumpled and he bit at his fist to stifle the tears that had gathered in his eyes. For the first time Stannis noticed how dark the shadows beneath Davos’ eyes were, and wondered how long he had been suffering alone. If it had been as long as they had been apart – well, he could hardly stand the thought. Not his Davos. 

Davos tried to turn away and hide his face, but Stannis did not let him. He grit his teeth and pulled him close to rest in his arms. He did not know what else to do. 

“Thank you,” Davos said, when he could speak once more, “Thank you, Stannis.”

“There is nothing to thank,” he said, “But you will sleep in my bed, whether you dream or not. That is not to be discussed further.”

Yes, he thought, as he sat up to snuff the candle and lay back down with Davos at his side. Perhaps he could do it. Perhaps he could, after all, learn to be the man who did not have to be a soldier.

**Author's Note:**

> SURPRISE, BITCH, BET YOU THOUGHT YOU'D SEEN THE LAST OF ME
> 
> Yeah, I don't know where this came from but here we are.
> 
> For Vana, because isn't it always?


End file.
